How High I have Climbed
by Lady Viola Delesseps
Summary: The story of Talia al Ghul, and Bane, once her protector, and now the only man she fears. They are united in fulfilling her father's goal of destroying Gotham, and returning power to the proletariat forces, but in order to do that, she must try to gain the attentions of Bruce Wayne. And that is the only part of the plan Bane won't stand for.
1. Chapter 1

Strange are the turns that life takes. Stranger still are the people one encounters. And the most strange of all are the things they say and do. Someone really ought to write things down.

She must have been special. I lie awake at night thinking about what it must have been that drew my father to her. Sometimes I look long at myself in the mirror and try to see myself in her. It is difficult; I have not seen her since I was six years old. But I know the large dark eyes and the round face are not the eyes and face of my father. Thus, I must reflect her as a pool of water reflects the face of one curious and brave enough to lean over. I speak as if I know him. I have seen him. I have spent time with him. But I do not truly know him.

Her name was Melissande. And she married my father. His love for her slowed his motions and handicapped his plans. He was captured, and yet somehow – someway, she was taken instead of him. Some say it was heroism, the ultimate sacrifice. I say it was folly. She lived a wretched life in the Pit. I do not know if my father knew of her choice to go in his place, or if he did, how on earth he countenanced it. I do not even know if he knew of my existence. I was born in that place, and raised in it. Memories are scarce, and unpleasant. She was killed one day in a riot, and all I can remember is a hand being placed over my mouth, and a strong body sheltering me from the struggle. He looked after me from then on. He became my hero, my teacher, my everything. And one day I left him. I was too young to realize what I had done. But then, as fate would have it, we were to meet again. I was a fool not to have recognized him before I did. But so much had changed.

An insistent beeping seemed to slice through the still air of my room and go straight into my eardrums. It could not possibly be 5 a.m. yet. Forcing an eye open, the red numbers glared at me through the mist before my gaze, mocking: _5:03_. I was amazed at how quickly three whole minutes can go by when you are so dazed and tired that you can do nothing except listen to annoying repetitive sound, but as soon as I remembered why I was getting up this early, energy surged through my muscles, and I sat up, pushing my hair back from my face. Today was the day. I had been working closely with many large companies, gradually building a reputation for myself as a well-known, successful businesswoman. My knowledge of business was limited, gained in an overnight course at a school for delinquents. I made sure I fit in well – my hair was long, but always tangled, and often ill-concealed under an ugly hat. I was sure that half the class could not tell if I was a boy or a girl, but apparently some things are not so easy to hide. No one would recognize the Mel from night school – taking my mother's name for lack of inspiration – as Miranda Tate, the name I assumed for my business ventures. Now I make sure that I look the picture of style and order. Too bad that I hate skirts and high heels. I feel like someone different than I really am, for which I am eternally grateful. I feel beautiful, seductive, and desired, both as a business partner, and, if I do not mistake the looks given to me over champagne glasses and fruit skewers, another kind of partner as well. I am slowly gaining profit, my capital amassing itself in the bank and being invested in shares of Gotham city's most secure ventures. And yet, money is not what I am after. What I am after, I still do not know. Unless it be the slow destruction of Gotham city, and rebuilding of a brave new order. Even then, it is not my dream, but another's.

Going into the bathroom and turning on the water, I let it run for a few moments as I pulled my clothes from the closet and laid them on the hastily-made bed. Then, shedding my pajamas as I went, I stepped into the spray and allowed the lukewarm water to wake me up, running through my hair and down my back, carrying the suds down to pool between my toes before being lost down the drain. A noise made me pause, and reluctantly shut off the faucet, at first hearing only drips, but my ears afterward confirming my first suspicions. A slight, insistent tapping was being drummed on my door. It was the most upscale condo complex that Gotham boasted, and so I did not fear unsavory intruders – only the rich, rude ones who could charm all society and still manage to need me at 5:30 in the morning.

Hurriedly throwing on a bathrobe and grabbing a towel to wring out the dripping ends of my hair, I made my way to the door, opening it with a scowl on my face. The scowl quickly turned to a look of shock as my visitor nearly fell through the open doorway on top of me. I quickly caught him; perhaps not the greatest reaction, but my reflexes are hard habits to break free from, and I dragged him within. He must have weighed three times my weight, but as soon as I pulled him far enough inside for his feet to scrape free of the threshold; the door slammed shut, and I rolled my intruder over.

He was an enormous man, dressed in tattered ill-fitting garments that looked to be from a donation center in the narrows, nearly unconscious and taking short ragged gasps. I quickly began to loosen his clothing, muttering under my breath about how on earth he came to be here. For then I knew him by the mask he wore, encasing his head and covering his mouth with a grating of valves and tubes. It was him. He had returned. His eyes slid open for a brief moment, and they met mine, familiar with pain. And so I turned my attention to the mask.

It took only a glance to notice that one of the tiny curved pipes was askew, it's valve hanging at an awkward angle. A second tube on the bottom row was completely knocked out of line. My fingers were cold, but I worked as quickly as I could, his eyes pleading with me as I did so, knowing that he could not do this himself, even with a mirror. With a small hiss, the chamber encasing his mouth filled once again with the proper mixture of the analgesic and oxygen, and his chest rose and fell at last in deep even breaths. His eyes slid closed once again, and his large hand found one of mine, engulfing it with warm pressure. I could only sit there, and listen to the dripping of the shower and the ticking of the clock as it sped towards 6:00, the time I was scheduled to be at Wayne Tower for a board meeting. I could manage being late, but not absent.

After about ten minutes, he sat up and regarded me with a strange look in his eyes. "I am sorry for interrupting," he said at last, his voice metallic, altered by the mask. It was a sound I had only heard a very few times, but the voice that I knew so well was still underneath, and came through the muffled device at odd moments that still make me shiver.

"How did you know where to find me?" I asked, standing, and regarding him as he hauled himself into a sitting position with his back against the foot of my bed. "I have taken pains to be nearly untraceable."

"You are difficult to lose," he replied, eying me curiously as I hurriedly grabbed my clothing and entered the bathroom. As much as I wanted to sit by his side, to talk, to understand everything that had been going on, I had built up a system of denial that always came out of my mouth before anything else.

"I am glad you are alright." I intended to rush on, but he interrupted me.

"I need somewhere to stay."

"Then stay here. But I have to go, or I will be late." And I slammed the door. In the solitude of the chill white bathroom I took a deep breath, and soon the roar of the blowdryer drowned out the sounds of my quiet tears.


	2. Chapter 2

It was 6:45 by the time I reached Wayne tower, seven minutes past that before I entered the board room. My shoes clacked loudly on the polished floor, and I smiled, though inwardly I was cringing as everyone turned to see who it was that was tardy.

"Ms. Tate," I was greeted by some grey-haired fellow – I remember only those whose names are absolutely necessary, such as Bruce Wayne – and looked attentive as I took my seat. "We were just discussing your division."

Clean sustainable energy is my poster cause. At least it is something that I care remotely about. I think that it is, if not the top priority in my personal life, at least a very good idea. I listened raptly as various proposals were put forth for consideration: shuffle this fund here, send these personnel there... It is enough to make one's head spin if you are not driven by something stronger than a paycheck. Still, I had difficulty focusing, thinking about Bane back at the condominium.

"Ms. Tate?" Too late, I realized a question had been put to me. I smiled as ingratiatingly as I could and leant my head toward my interrogator.

"I'm sorry, I must have not been listening. We are still discussing the idea of connecting all power sources to a single grid?"

"Precisely," he said, droning on and on about things we had gone over a hundred times it seemed. But this time I had decided to make my suggestions bold and clear. Those are the sorts of people that others will follow these days.

"A reactor the size we would need would not be impossible to build in this day and age, as was previously thought." Immediately all eyes and ears were on me – it was a pleasing reaction. "And if any company in existence the world over would have the capabilities of building such a reactor, then Wayne Enterprises would be the one."

I tried not to catch anyone's eye in particular, but at the same time, I was scanning the faces of the board before me, trying to assess if I had indeed hit the mark. If the deliberately blank looks of a few and the awkward clearing of throats were any indication, it was a center shot.

"As great as the assets to possessing and operating said reactor would be, I think that we overruled this suggestion in the past as too dangerous. Think of the risks involved, if it were to ever fall into the wrong hands, or malfunction."

"Wayne Enterprises does not create technology that malfunctions," I said sweetly. But I had accomplished my purposes – broaching the subject to them in a new light. It was important that the suggestion come to them through my lips. And though they quickly moved on to other topics, I was certain that a few looked upon me with favor for the concept, and most, if not all, would be thinking of it tonight as they lay awake in the dark.

It was late afternoon and the sun slanted between the buildings of the concrete labyrinth, warming my back as I walked, catching a cab a block away from the tower. Most assumed I had my own car, and though I was not exactly ashamed to be seen using public transport, since the destruction of the train had rendered taxis a necessity for many, I was not eager for it to appear on my brave new profile.

Reaching in my purse and retrieving my phone, I saw that I had two unread text messages, and opened the first, seeing it was from 6:34 that morning. _Did you forget the meeting? Wondering if you'll be there. _It was from one of the men, John Daggett, he was called. Under the ploy of following his advice, I had made great investments in Wayne Enterprises at the outset of my career. He had been telling me since then that it was a foolish venture, and Bruce Wayne was wasting it on pointless schemes to save the world. I enjoy reminding him that it was his suggestion in the first place, though I know what I am doing. Bruce Wayne may not be appearing publicly anymore, but my money is funding his enterprises. And I intend to use that for every ounce of leverage I can muster.

The other message was from an unknown number. Opening it, I read _Tell them the truth._ Quickly I ran a trace on the number, but unluckily, we drove through a dead spot in the wireless just then and I lost the loading results. Stowing my phone back in my purse, I paid and exited the cab wordlessly, and hurried up to my condo, hoping he would still be there.

He was. Bane was asleep on the bed, lying on top of the covers with his back to me, the sound of his breathing reverberant in the cavity of his mask. Nothing else about the room was out of place, except the large brown coat that was thrown over the back of the chair in the window. I clicked the door shut behind me, and he stirred ever so slightly, rolling over, and regarding me with tired eyes.

"Did you get some rest?" I inquired, my voice maddeningly glib. "You look as if you needed it." _Why did I always say what was farthest from my thoughts at the moment?_

"I did," he replied, sitting up and thumbing his booted feet to the floor. "Though I am wondering if you have something to tell me about your meeting."

I did not know how on earth he could have known where I was, or that today's meeting was any more significant than another, but I decided not to ask. He has his sources, and I have a feeling it is wiser to keep out of them, for now.

"A reactor to harness all the power of Gotham city," I said, facing him. "A proposition that both suits my cause and serves my purposes."  
"Which are?" Bane's eyes held mine, and I tried to read his gaze. Surely he knew.

"You must know that something that high powered can be turned into almost anything by someone with a basic knowledge of –"

"Nuclear physics," he finished. "I am with you. But if I am not mistaken, you are an investor. Not a scientist."

"I have my connections," I said loftily, not wanting him to think I was asking for help.

"And one of them is in this room."

He was right. With a sigh, I kicked off my shoes and padded in my nylons to the chair, sinking to a seat. In all likelihood he already knew, and since his eyes showed approval at my actions, I surmised my guess was correct. I hated the way I felt around him as much as I loved the fact that we were once again in the same room, face to face, eye to eye. This was how it used to be. We would talk for hours, and he would teach my willing mind everything he knew. At least that is what I thought. I have come to realize since then that I had only scratched the surface. If given an ordinary life, I am sure Bane would have been destined for great things. We were allies. And as much as my pride rebelled at my life-long reliance on him, my heart throbbed at the fact that we could, in a very real sense, do whatever we wanted with his skills. And yet, his loyalty bound him to me, his charge, his trust. My father may have hated him, but once he was the League of Shadows personified. I needed him. I still need him now.

It was late when we finally finished our discussion, and I finally rose to undress and get some sleep. We shared a cell for many years in the Pit, and so sleeping in the same room as Bane was nothing new to me. He was no gentleman, and yet insisted that I take my own bed, he could sleep very well on the floor. I agreed, and dimming the lights, slid between the sheets and felt the familiar give of the pillows beneath my shoulders, watching in silence as Bane took a spare blanket and lay down on the floor alongside the bed.

"You napped for so long it's a wonder if you are able to sleep now," I mused, tossing my hair back over my shoulder and out of my way.

"You do not know how long I slept," was his response, and I chuckled in agreement. Slowly, I found my hand drooping from beneath the covers down toward where he lay. I could feel the heat emanating from his body, hitting my skin in tiny throbbing waves, calling for me to touch him, to draw us together, and make us one. I held my breath, tensing my shoulder to keep the feeling from turning into an action, and slipped my hand back out of sight as Bane sat up to unlace his boots. Tossing them beneath the armchair, he lay back down with his arms crossed over his chest. Soon his even breathing filled the room but my eyes refused to shut for long hours into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

It was not the first time I had been in such a house. The other time had been at the Wayne Mansion, and what a sight that had been. This was the residence of another society fiend, and was the host of a charity ball that I had organized myself. My time with Bane had not proved altogether unfruitful; in fact, this was, at the start, his idea. I never fail to be amazed at the mind of that man. A philanthropist makes many friends, I am finding. And I hoped that my friends would not fail me this time.

The ceilings soared high, the staircase swept in a long line down the sleek walls, and pillars placed at well-proportioned intervals around the wide floor gave a classical aspect to the mansion. I tried my best not to stare, because doing so would be a sure indicator of my unaccustomed eye in such a situation, but fortunately, there were enough people I knew to keep me nodding and smiling and making polite conversation instead of architecture-gazing.

There was only one man I was looking for. The last time I had been at his manor, he had of course refused my demands to see him. No one had seen him in seven years, they say. I have heard of stranger things, but I had determined to meet him in person this night. I was not disappointed. He entered the room, causing a stir in the crowds and a tiny ripple of gasps that spread like wildfire. Bruce Wayne was here. I had never seen him before, but to me, he looked identical to the picture that represented him on the wall of the Wayne Tower Conference Room. So clearly it wasn't his appearance that was so shocking. Or in fact, it may have been. His appearance. That he made an appearance at all. The thought put a smile on my lips, and I managed to part the crowds enough to reach him decently quickly.

"Mr. Wayne," I greeted, taking his arm as the surprise subsided and the socialites returned to their drinks and gossiping. "I do not believe we have met."

He looked at me with smiling blue eyes. "I do not think we have, but you clearly know my name. Perhaps you'd honor me with yours?"

He spoke with well-cultivated politeness, but he did not strike me as a man who was only capable of gentlemanly behavior. Manly, perhaps, but not gentlemanly.

"Miranda Tate," I said, smiling, and enjoying the look of surprise on his face.

"Then I do know you, Ms. Tate, though not by sight. Your name is all over the records of my company." He leaned closer to me, his breath ghosting over the cold shell of my ear, "But then, I don't get out much."

I managed a laugh with a natural air that surprised even myself; was he catching me off-guard? He straightened and said, a little louder, "You'll have to forgive my awkwardness, and help me around this evening. I haven't forgotten anyone that I remember..." This made me laugh. "But then, I can't think of anyone I remember forgetting." Clever, this one, and not just with words. A ladies' man, but also a capable foe, if opposed.

"I'll do my best, though I'm a bit new to this scene as well," I admitted, wondering as I did so, why I was being so free. "My investments are longstanding, but not my social life. I tire easily, and like a little one-on-one much better." Was I flirting with him? It was all a show, I told myself. But a tiny voice in my head reminded me, _You are not here so that you will be liked._ Yet something about him made my heart ache just a little and wish vainly for his good opinion. How I envy those who have that. I wonder if anyone does.

"One-on-one, eh?" Bruce perhaps would have continued, but just then an idiot of a congressman hurried up and exclaimed loudly over the fact that he was here at last, and Bruce proceeded in conversation with him for a moment. When he turned back to me, the thought was lost.

"Humoring the imbecile?" I inquired mildly. He laughed outright.

"Opinionated, much?" he teased. "You've quite a tongue."

"And you've forgotten you have one." I brushed a stray strand of hair aside that was tickling my shoulder, and favored him with a long glance. "They say you won't speak of what sent you into your solitude."  
"It was not willing, that I assure you."  
"The silence, or the solitude?"

"Both," he replied at last. "I keep another's secrets."  
"Indeed?" I was somehow not surprised at this. "You are not the only one."

"You are a mysterious woman, Ms. Tate."

"But a rich one, and that is what you need right now, is it not?" This was bold, but he merely smiled, and nodded.

"Exactly. You're going to see one day that your investments put Gotham on the front pages of the world."

I nodded. "I know."

With a slightly bemused smile, he vanished into the crowds, and the rest of the evening I found myself trying to pick him out of the swirling dancers. It was a secret that I could not dance, and thus I turned down the several who asked me to the floor with grace and excuses of sore feet. Gradually a plan was forming in my mind. I did not understand the feelings I was experiencing for Bruce Wayne; I who usually considered myself to strong and immune to the charms of wealthy womanizers, was suddenly put in a quandary. Bane would tell me to use this to my advantage. Oh well. If money was not enough to put him in my power, than I would try love. Money is quicker in coming, but equally quick to leave. Love was... Perhaps love was not so changeable. I could only hope so. It was going to be an enjoyable experiment.

It was nearing two o'clock in the morning by the time I dismissed myself from the stimulating discussion of oil share prices and betook myself (by cab) back to my condominium. I don't know why, but suddenly I dreaded the idea of my confidante waiting for me. I had my plans, and they were good. It was time that I show him that I do not always obey unquestioningly. Bracing my courage though my eyes stung with lack of sleep, I unlocked the door, and stepped within. Bane awaited me, his back to where I stood, his hands hooked in the collar of his jacket. He turned at my entry.

"Well?" was his eloquent query.

"Well, what?" Again, maddeningly glib. But why should it matter? I do not care so much for what he thinks of me. It's only that, on occasion, sometimes there is a glimmer...

"Did you meet him?"

"I did."

"How much?"

"Pardon?" I raised my eyebrows, and set down my handback, hurriedly unhooking my jewelry and laying it upon the bureau, sighing as I removed the pins from my hair and let it down to it's natural state, the weight coming off my head sending waves of happiness down my spine.

"How much did he say it would cost to finish the reactor?"  
"Oh, we did not talk of the reactor. This was just hello, how are you, quite well, thank you... That sort of thing. We have to get to know each other first."

Bane's footsteps pounded across the floor, heavy with authority. He stood just behind me, and in the mirror I could see his every move as he lowered his head toward my ear, and said, his voice a gasp within the mask, "What more do you need to know about him? I have told you everything that is known."

"I meant as a person," I found myself replying, my voice small in the space between us. "We must build up a trust... a rapport..."

"How?" Bane straightened, and I let out a tiny sigh of relief.

"I have a plan. Don't you trust me?" I allowed a shade of coyness to creep into my tone, but it seemed to have no effect on him.

"Make him fall in love with you..." His words echoed in the room like the prediction of an oracle. How on earth had he... I pulled out my best nonchalance.

"What is wrong with that? The greatest of state secrets are shared in bed."

In an instant Bane's hand encircled my arm in an iron grip and I was whirled around to face him. His eyes were glowing in the dimness like the icy orbs of a timber wolf, and I could not help but shudder.

"That is not necessary," he growled. And then it hit me.

"You're jealous," I whispered. He released me as if I had slapped him, and took a step or two backwards.

"You know what I think," he said at last, and then, as I stood helpless in the middle of the room, he walked past me, and out the door, shutting it with a bang behind him. I don't remember finishing undressing for bed, but that night I imagined I could hear his breathing by my bedside, muffled, as always, through the casing of the mask.


End file.
